four reasons why you shouldn't
by acetamide
Summary: ...let your best friend talk you into having sex, and one reason why you should.


Written for the following prompt at the LJ st_xi_kink meme:

_Kirk/McCoy, reasons why you shouldn't let your best friend talk you into having sex. _

* * *

_four reasons why you shouldn't let your best friend talk you into having sex…_

_***_

_1) he won't respect you in the morning_

The alarm on the chrono goes off at 0700 hours, and Jim Kirk responds by snorting, rolling onto his back, flinging his arms around in what might be an attempt to turn it off, then choking on his own yawn.

It doesn't help matters that you can feel the dried come from last night stuck to your stomach and matting your chest hair, and that Jim's hand smacks you in the face when you're not concentrating.

"Alarm off," you grunt, pushing his arm from your neck and rubbing at your eyes as you sit up. The lights are brightening slowly, and as they reach fifty percent, you remember exactly what happened last night and why it was such a bad idea.

You fall back onto the pillow and let out a groan, then jump as you feel something suspiciously familiar pressing into your hip as Jim slides closer to you, hands wandering over your chest and a sleepy smile on his face.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," you complain, and he leers at you.

"Admit it, you enjoyed it," he whispers, his voice low and husky, and you know that if you stay in that bed a minute longer neither of you will be ready for your shift.

"My enjoyment is beside the point," you growl, rolling out of his grasp and out of the bed before you make another mistake. "It was a _bad idea_. Now get up, we're on shift in an hour."

You turn to walk away, and he slaps you on the ass as you step away from the bed.

"Make me coffee?" he asks, only he somehow makes it sound like it's going to happen anyway. You look back at him only to see him sprawling across the whole bed, grinning up at you.

You roll you eyes as you walk away to wash the come from your skin.

_***_

_2) all of your friends will know about it within a da_y

You're kind of used to people giving you funny looks – half the time you're either scowling or carrying a hypospray with a determined look on your face – but the looks you're getting today are a on whole new level. A young female ensign actually blushed when she saw you and nearly walked into the wall. Another saw you and immediately turned around and went back the way he came, nearly stumbling in his haste.

You pass it off as some sort of strange, junior ensign business that you're above taking part in. Hell, you have more important things to be worrying about. But then Chekov is suspiciously fascinated in what your plans for the evening are, and Sulu's grinning a little more than necessary during his monthly exam.

It isn't until Scotty makes a suggestive comment about you giving the Captain a "particular thorough" examination that you take it upon yourself to ask Uhura what's going on. You would have gone to Spock, but he seems as non-plussed as you feel.

"They know you slept with the Captain last night," she tells you, her tone almost bored as she half-listens to you and half to the speech that she's translating absently. "It's all the crew's been talking about all day. Apart from Spock, but I don't want to damage his brain right now."

You realise after a few seconds that you're staring at her and your mouth has dropped open, and you take a moment to muster the righteous indignation that the situation needs, and forego any attempts to deny the situation.

"What goddamn business of theirs is my private life?" you hiss, mindful of Chekov watching you intently and trying to not be obvious in his eavesdropping. "And how the hell did they even find out in the firstplace?"

"Women _know_ these things, and pass on the imformation," she says, a little conspiratorially, and tilts her head to one side to look at you curiously. "Besides, this is the biggest thing on the ship since people found out about Spock and I. Why _wouldn't_ I help spread it?"

You groan, and turn to bang your head against the nearest hard surface.

_***_

_3) the line between friendship and sex blurs to the point where you struggle to see it_

The thing is, today is Monday. And Monday is the day that you and Jim eat dinner in his quarters, discussing formal ship matters and going over reports for the past week, and then when you've moved onto dessert you discuss the gossip that's been flying around for the past seven days.

It's something that you do every single week, and it's comfortable and familiar and _completely_ normal. Hell, he does exactly the same thing with Spock (minus the gossiping) on Friday nights. This is Jim being a Captain, discussing his ship with his two most senior officers, nothing more.

Only when you walk through the doorway this week, even though everything is exactly the same as normal, everything is also different.

The food is set out on the small table, as normal, light glinting off the cutlery and steam rising from the steak. Jim is sprawled on his sofa, PADD in hand, his soft black shirt riding up to expose a few inches of flat stomach. The bed is made, one side half-turned down like an invitation even though it probably just means that Jim was sat on it and it got rumpled.

And this is exactly how Jim's quarters always look when you arrive, and exactly how Jim usually looks. But then you glance back at the bed briefly, and all you can think of is Jim thrusting down into you last night, slow and sweaty, and pressing hot, languid kisses into your neck as you just held on for the ride.

It's all a bit much all of a sudden, and you turn on your heel and march out of the door.

You go back ten minutes later after splashing your face with water, and Jim only gives you an odd look for a few moments before shaking his head as if he has no idea what made you walk out.

_***_

_4) all conversation will now, inevitably, end up being about sex_

Your head is pounding and your eyes are sore as you try and fill out the forms on the screen, and none of the hyposprays that you've used so far seem to have worked. And Jim, like the smug son of a bitch that he is, is just leaning against the wall beside him looking as fresh and chipper as though he'd slept untroubled for a week.

You're seriously considering hurting him.

"If you ever suggest drinking anything like as much as you did last night again, I'll sedate you and lock you in a cupboard somewhere. I feel _terrible_," you tell him, giving him as stern a look as you can, and he shrugs languidly as he smirks at you. It's not true though, because the immense amounts of alien alcohol that he persuaded you to drink did stop you freaking out whenever you looked at his bed.

"Hey, it's not my fault that you were grumpy and got drunk and morose. That was entirely down to you. I mean, look at me – I'm absolutely fine."

"I hate you."

"You _love_ me. And my cock," he says, eyes hooded and licking his lips, and your cock twitches as though it can hear him too.

_***_

_…and one reason why you should._

_***_

_1) you love him and you always have, and you know that it's the same for him, and that's reason enough._

It's been four days since you slept with Jim, and in the last twenty four hours you've resected two kidneys, fixed seven broken bones, sealed twelve bleeders, patched up seventeen minor abrasions, and injected thirty-three hyposprays into the away team that came back from their mission two men down and ready to collapse.

You've been staring at your face in the mirror for a good ten minutes, and there's still water dripping from your hair where you've tried to clean up. You squint, looking closer, and swear that those wrinkles hadn't been there the previous day. Damn, but you're getting old.

You're tired, you're aching, and you can still smell the blood on your skin, but gamma shift is about to begin so you dry yourself off and step from the bathroom, turning towards the sickbay.

"Bones."

You stop and close your eyes, because you really, really don't want to have to deal with Jim bloody Kirk and his smug smiles and inappropriate comments and wandering hands. But you wait for him to catch up anyway, even if you don't turn around, and lean heavily against the wall.

"Whatever it is, I don't have time," you say, and even to yourself you sound dejected and exhausted. "I'm on the next shift, I need to get to the sickbay."

"No, you're not."

You open your eyes to find him standing in front of you, and thankfully he's not smirking at you. He's got his arms crossed over his chest, his hair is stuck up in twenty different directions, and he's got huge bags under his eyes. He's not slept since the away team came back, the same as you – he's been too full of tension and worry and frustration with _himself_, and nothing you do seems to dissipate it. You've thought about sedating him more than once, but you know that he'll wake up even more grumpy if you do.

"Funny, because last time I checked, I was on gamma shift this week," you point out, and he just smiles and pats you on the shoulder.

"Yeah, you _were_," he repeats, and steers you down the corridor, away from the sickbay. "But I switched your shift. Chapel's sorting everything, it's fine."

"I can't just switch shifts, Jim," you complain as he pushes you into his quarters, but you're brain's not working quite fast enough to form coherent sentences. All you need is the right booster and you'll be fine, but the hypospray you need is in the sickbay and you're not.

"You can if I say you can," he points out, manhandling out of your uniform even as you try to keep it on, because _dammit_ you're not putting out now. But he persists, pushing you backwards to the bed until you hit it with the backs of your knees and land on it.

"We're not having sex, Jim," you say in your firmest tone, and he just blinks and stares at you, more open and surprised than you've seen in a while. It almost throws you off-kilter.

"Jesus, Bones, I'm sending you to bed to _sleep_, not have sex with you!" he exclaims, yanking your shirt up over your head, and there's an amused tone to his voice now. "Not that I don't want to, but that's for a time when you're not dead on your feet."

You're too busy trying to process that he _doesn't_ want to sleep with you – not in an egotistical sense, mind, just a fleeting fascination that Jim Kirk is passing up an opportunity for sex – that he manages to get you stripped down to your boxers. He's gentle as he helps you into bed and you feel as though you should protest, but you can't really summon enough energy.

"I really should be in the sickbay," you try, wincing at how lame it sounds, and Jim just looks at you fondly as he steps away from the bed.

"No, you should be resting, which is exactly what you're going to do when I leave this room," he says with raised eyebrows as he backs towards the door, and in a last attempt to not be a pushover, you start to climb out of the bed.

"There's things that I need to be doing…" you start, but he's back at the bedside faster than your exhausted mind can cope with, pushing you pack in with a scowl spreading over his pale face.

"Do you want me to make it an order, Bones?" Jim snaps, but there's no fight in his voice and you can see that he's just as tired as you are. So you shake your head slowly, and settle down.

"You're just as bad as me," you point out as he goes back to leave. "Aren't you going to rest too?"

He pauses by the door, eyes unfocused and brow tight like he's thinking really hard about something, and he eventually nods.

"I'll do gamma, and then yes. I'll sleep. Good enough for you?"

And it's not good enough, not really, because if you're forced to take time off then he should be too. But he's got his stubborn face on again, so you don't argue. You just settle into the pillows that still smell of Jim, and breathe his scent in as the lights go out.

***

You wake in the early hours of the morning as Jim slides into the bed beside you, and feign sleep as he moans in appreciation, sinking into the cool sheets. A surreptitious look at the chrono confirms that delta shift has just ended, not gamma, and you roll over to glare at him in the darkened room. His eyes are half-closed and his mouth is slack, his bare shoulder shining in the light of the computers, and all of the fight drains from your body.

"Go back to sleep," Jim murmurs, pre-empting any argument you might have tried to form. He shifts closer and curls his hand over your hip, stretching his neck to press his lips to your temple. "We're both off until beta."

And you can't really complain about that, so you don't. You can chew him out on taking another shift later, when you're not both still drained. Right now, you're wrapped up in a man who would and _does_ do anything for you, despite all of your glaring character flaws, and you're happy with that.

You have a brief flash of thinking that being close to Jim like this is worth all of the shit that he puts you through – but then you realise that all of that shit is Jim. And as much as you complain about him, you would never change him.

"Stop thinking so loud and goddamn go to sleep, Bones."

You can deal with this.

_***_

_end_

_***_


End file.
